Harry Potter & the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic
by Hedwig and the Angry Snitch
Summary: Harry and company are faced with a new terror...and it's gosh darn hilarious! A playful poke at the series and movie, and also has a plot. Think of it as controlled chaos.
1. Let the Insanity Begin

Harry Potter and the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic  
  
DISCLAIMER: Number of characters I own in this story: zero. J.K. Rowling created the Harry Potter world and everything associated with it. I own no rights to any of the characters in this story. Rowling is God; I am merely one of Her prophets. [smiles with satisfaction.]  
  
SPOILERS: Chapter 4 gives away something in book three and in book two. I would recommend reading this only if you read all 4 books (unless you just don't care.)  
  
SUMMARY: It's pure insanity. There is a loose plot, so it's not completely out there, but it ain't no book 5. If you like parodies and characters getting hit in the heads with silly objects, gee golly, this is the story for you!  
  
Chapter 1: Let the Nonsense Begin  
  
"Harry, you must hurry, or we'll be late for potions."  
  
"Oh come off it, Hermione. We're certainty not in the mood to hurry to any class of Snape's."  
  
"Yes Ron, but if we're late Snape will deduct 347264815 points from Gryffindor!"  
  
"Hermione, I think Harry has far more important things to worry about than House Points! Like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named coming back yet again in a vain attempt to kill Harry, the one who keeps slipping out of his clutches!"  
  
"Ron, while this is indeed true, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't come back until the end of the story, which means Harry as plenty of time to get to class!"  
  
"Well I still think Harry has more important things to worry about!"  
  
"Why don't you let Harry speak for himself!" Interrupted Harry, himself.  
  
"Sorry, Harry. We didn't realize..."  
  
But Harry had stopped listening to his freckly friend. He had more important things to worry about. More important than class, house points, Snape, or even the Dark Lord himself. Harry had to worry about...  
  
...his hair. It was doing this dreadful flippy thing where the front would stick up in about twenty-seven directions and the back fluttered out behind him. It looked as though a gigantic peacock plopped himself upon Harry's head. And the more Harry tried to smooth it down, the worse it looked. Harry knew it looked something awful. He heard the Slytherins snicker at him as he walked past. Of course, the Slytherins always snickered as he walked past...but the Ravenclaws were staring strangely at Harry as well. Even the Hufflepuffs were giggling and pointing. The Hufflepuffs!!! The lamest house in all of Hogwarts! The house represented by a bloody badger! No, this was not good news. Not good news indeed. Something evil was afoot. Suddenly, a terrible though occurred to Harry. It frightened him so terribly that he dropped his spork.  
  
"Harry, what's the matter? I didn't really mean it when I said Cho was a frigid bitch. Harry...?"  
  
Hermione and Ron, Harry's chummiest chums, stared with worry at Harry, who looked like a cat trying to hide from the vacuum cleaner. His lips parted, and he was about to say something when...  
  
"Male's here!" Ron said in awe, as Hedwig, Harry's owl, was pulling with difficulty a stout short German man with her tendons. She plopped the portly fellow beside Harry.  
  
"Der schlieken!" He cursed, as he picked himself up and left, but not before bopping Harry squarely on the head with a bottle of peach Snapple.  
  
"Harry, your German Quidditch trainer arrived and you didn't even notice. Something's dreadfully wrong. What is it?" Hermione asked, face clouded with vexation.  
  
"I...I think Vol-Sorry, I mean He-Who-Must, oh to hell with it, Voldemort, is putting the Pelligrosa Curse upon me."  
  
Ron and Hermione gasped, as they too, dropped their sporks in fear. "N-no Harry...n-not the P-pelligrosa curse?" Ron whispered, his voice trembling like Quirrell's.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry, but what's the Pelligrosa Curse?" Oliver Wood, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, inquired.  
  
"Where the bloody hell did you come from?" asked Ron, somewhat annoyed by Wood's random appearance.  
  
"I've been sitting next to Harry this whole time. Excuse me for listening. It's not my fault, really. You talk so bloody loud even Hagrid can hear you in his hut." With that, Oliver Wood, the handsome Scottish brogue he is, picked up his breakfast to find a seat elsewhere.  
  
"Wait! Oliver, please don't go!" Pleaded Hermione. Oliver stopped in his tracks. He turned to stare at the Potter Three, and said beaming, "Why? Does someone actually...care about me? I have no real friends, you know. I just sort of hang out with my Quidditch supplies. Are you guys...my friends? Does this mean I'll get more dialogue in the books, and more scenes in the movies?"  
  
"Actually, I just wanted you to stay so I could recite for you from page sixty-seven of 'Cruel Curses' what the Pelligrosa Curse is. Any chance to display my worldly knowledge, I take."  
  
Oliver's eyes swelled with tears. "Why...why do you hurt me so?" He threw down his food tray and stormed out of the great hall, tears streaming down his face.  
  
"Excuse me, but this story is indeed called HARRY POTTER and the Excruciatingly Pointless Fanfic. Oliver Wood's name is NOT in the title."  
  
Sorry, I just got carried away.  
  
"I know."  
  
I love you, Oliver.  
  
"He's not reading this, you know."  
  
I know Harry. No one is. And if they are, it's because they've already read all of the good fanfics.  
  
"Yes. Anyway, tell us Hermione, what IS the Pelliwhatever curse?"  
  
Hermione cleared her throat, and drank a sip of water from her cup. "The Pelligrosa Curse is one of the cruelest curses known to wizards. It causes the victim's hair to grow in all sorts of directions and stick out in odd places. Gel doesn't work. Spray won't help. Water is ineffective. And even if you shave your head bald, the hair grows back even more tangled and unmanageable."  
  
"Ohhh, is that why your hair is so ratty, Hermione?"  
  
Hermione glared at Ron and hit him with the roasted leg of lamb she was eating. Ron stuck his tongue out.  
  
"What shall I do?" Harry asked, his courage returning.  
  
"Well," mused Hermione, "I suppose we should ask Hagrid for advice?"  
  
"...why?"  
  
"Because it's time for a change of scenery."  
  
"Oh." 


	2. Chaos in the Dungeon

Chapter 2: Chaos in the Dungeon  
  
Before they left the castle to visit Hagrid, Hermione insisted that they go to class. Moaning and groaning, the boys picked up their books and followed Hermione to the dungeon. They made it just in time.  
  
"Ah, the plucky Potter pals are here. How fantastic," Snape said dryly.  
  
Just then the door burst open, and Draco entered, chin confidently raised, Crabbe and Goyle trudging behind him like the 2-dimensional boring characters they are.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy...you're late," Snape said quietly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  
  
"Sorry sir," Malfoy replied, and slid coolly into a seat, Crabbe and Goyle doing the same.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy...I simply cannot tolerate lateness. For your punishment, you will have to conjure Mr. Potter a hat, so he can hide his God-awful hair under it."  
  
The Slytherins erupted in laughter. "Good one Professor!" Malfoy hooted, and got up so he and Snape could do their special "Gryffindors suck handshake".  
  
Harry felt like throwing something. He picked up Ron and was about to hurl him across the room but Hermione placed her hand firmly on Harry's shoulder and quietly demanded he regain control of himself. Harry quickly subdued his anger.  
  
"Mr. Potter, I do believe that's the worst hair mishap I've ever seen in my life."  
  
"You should talk," Harry mumbled.  
  
"What was that?" Snape asked sharply.  
  
"I said Blue is the chalk."  
  
Snape stared curiously at Potter, but dismissed the remark as babble. No doubt he's on drugs, Snape thought to himself, although that kind of seemed like the pot calling the kettle black.  
  
Potions class was a nightmare as usual for the Gryffindors. Neville managed to turn himself into a radish, set Snape's robe on fire, and melt the walls – all in the first five minutes. Seamus Finnigan and Lee Jordan could not stop laughing at Neville's mishaps and wound up collapsed on the floor, convulsing with giggles. Then Lee Jordan noticed he was in the wrong class because he isn't in Harry's grade, which makes one ponder why he was depicted as an eleven year old in the film. Dean Thomas was there too…doing his Dean Thomas thing. Pansy Parkinson was sending love notes to Draco, who was setting each one on fire with his wand. Crabbe and Goyle were banging their heads against their desks because they're that stupid. Paravati was pondering her bizarre name while Lavender [insert last name here because author can't remember] was asleep. Hermione was going crazy trying to help Neville, and Ron and Harry just stopped trying.  
  
"Class, please settle-  
  
Brown! Er, sorry for interrupting, I just remembered.  
  
"May I continue then?"  
  
Yes, Professor Snape.  
  
"Thanks." Snape cleared his throat and glared angrily at the author. "As I was saying…"  
  
Well, what are you waiting for?  
  
"I need to get back into character!"  
  
"Once again, I must say, the story is veering away from me-  
  
Yeah, yeah, Potter, I hear you. Anyway Snape, do continue.  
  
"Class, please settle down, or I'll detain you all for the rest of your young wizard lives!"  
  
The class did not settle down, and Snape was true to his word. Almost. It took at least three hours to clean the dungeon up. By the time they were finished, dusk began to fall. But Harry still insisted upon seeing Hagrid.  
  
"The Slytherins are sooo stupid!" Harry said angrily, as soon as they had walked a safe distance from Snape's room. "Your punishment is to conjure Mr. Potter a hat blah blah blah," Harry mimicked.  
  
"Seriously Harry, your hair is out of control. It's getting worse by the minute. Do you want to stop at our rooms so you can borrow my Chudley Cannons helmet to wear?  
  
"No Ron," Harry murmured through gritted teeth.  
  
"Oh you two," Hermione said, for no reason at all but to say something. 


	3. Poor, Poor Harry

Chapter 3: Poor, Poor Harry  
  
They weary Potter Party trudged across the Hogwarts' grounds all the way to Hagrid's cabin. Once there, Harry pounded on the door.  
  
"Grahmgree," they heard Hagrid grumble.  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged puzzled looks.  
  
"Did he tell us to come in?" Ron asked.  
  
"I really don't know," Harry confessed. "Hermione?"  
  
"I didn't catch it either," Hermione said. "I actually don't understand what he's saying half the time."  
  
"Well, let's just go in anyway," Harry reasoned. With caution, Harry pushed open the gigantic oak door and stepped inside the roomy room.  
  
"Ah, hullo Harry," Hagrid greeted cheerfully. "Got summat fudge you like. Made it meself. It's nice and- MERLIN'S BEARD! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL HAPPENED TO YOUR HEAD?"  
  
Ron and Hermione burst out laughing, unable to contain their amusement at Hagrid's outburst. Harry shot them dagger looks, which they easily ignored.  
  
"I'm afraid I've been hexed with the Pelligrosa curse," Harry moaned.  
  
"Boy, I'll say! I haven't seen hair that bad since lunch when I ran into Snape! And Snape's hair wasn't even that bad!"  
  
"Oh Hagrid, what'll I do?" Harry wailed.  
  
"Get a new head?"  
  
Ron and Hermione exploded into a new fit of giggles.  
  
"Harry, I'm sorry, but that's really the worst hair I've ever seen. But you're right, this is serious. Let me think…"  
  
Hagrid paced his cabin thoughtfully, each step shaking the hut to its very floor plan. "I got it!" He bellowed, so loud that Fang awoke from his sleep, whimpering.  
  
"Sorry, Fang," Hagrid apologized, tossing Fang a treat. "Harry, there's a book in the library called 'Curses for Dummies' and I remember it saying something about possible treatment for the Pelligrosa Curse!"  
  
"Yay!" Harry, Hermione, and Ron cheered.  
  
"The only problem is, it's in the restricted section."  
  
"Awww," Harry, Hermione, and Ron groaned disappointedly.  
  
"But I'll write you a slip of permission!"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
"But I don't know how to write!"  
  
"Awww."  
  
"But I'll explain your situation to Dumbledore, and he can write you a note!"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
"But Dumbledore is in Yemen for a Goblin Conference."  
  
"Awww."  
  
"But you can sneak in with your invisibility cloak!"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
"But if you get caught, Filch will shackle you in the dungeon."  
  
"Awww."  
  
"But then I could break you out!"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
"But then I'd get in trouble."  
  
"Awww."  
  
"But then I'd explain the situation to Professor McGonagall and she'd help yeh!"  
  
"Yay!"  
  
"Hagrid, maybe we should just go to Professor McGonagall for permission first!"  
  
Hagrid scratched his head. "Yeah…yeah I'spose you could do just that!"  
  
"Thanks Hagrid!" Harry cheered, as the trio of Potter began to leave.  
  
"Wait, Hagrid," Hermione began, "I have a question."  
  
"What else is new?" Ron quipped.  
  
Hermione threw a leg of lamb at him.  
  
"Hey, where did that come from?" Ron asked, rubbing his cheek where the meat hit him.  
  
"Hagrid," Hermione continued, ignoring Ron, "How did you know there was a book called 'Curses for Dummies' in the library, and how did you know it could help Harry with the Pelligrosa Curse?"  
  
Hagrid stared at his boots. "Well Hermione…I had a problem with the Pelligrosa Curse meself."  
  
Harry stared at Hagrid's black mass of tangled hair, a jungle that consumed most of his face, and burst into tears. 


	4. A Chapter That Is Longer Than Chapter 3

1 Chapter 4: A Chapter That is Longer Than Chapter 3  
  
After arriving back the castle, Hermione insisted that it was too late to pester Professor McGonagall for a permission slip.  
  
"She's probably very tired Harry," Hermione reasoned. "If we want to get that permission slip from her we'll want to be sure we catch her in her best mood."  
  
"Well that'll take years," Ron joked. He waited for a leg of meat to hit him, and when none did, he sighed with relief.  
  
The Tres Amigos de Harry Potter walked up to the Fat Lady portrait that led to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
"Password?" she asked.  
  
"Ugly git," Ron replied.  
  
"Why I never!" The Fat Lady huffed.  
  
"No, honest, that's the password!" Ron pleaded.  
  
The Fat Lady paused. "Oh…right. Enter." The portrait swung open, and they stepped inside. They walked in tired silence to the Gryffindor dormitory staircases, and paused.  
  
"I'll see you two tomorrow morning," Hermione ordered. "Don't forget, we have Care of Magical Creatures first thing tomorrow."  
  
"After that do we have a free period?" Harry asked anxiously.  
  
"Yes. After class, we can go get the permission slip from Professor McGonagall and head to the library. Don't worry Harry, we'll get this sorted out."  
  
"I wonder who's hexing you, Harry," Ron pondered aloud.  
  
"Well durr!" Harry clucked. "Isn't it obvious?"  
  
"You mean Lord Voldemort?"  
  
Hermione gasped. "Ron!"  
  
"It's not my fault," Ron insisted. "The author is too lazy to type out the full nickname. Voldemort is much shorter."  
  
"Quite right," Harry smartly agreed. "And yes, it must be Lord Voldemort."  
  
"I don't know Harry…" Hermione thought. "It would just seem like a pointless thing for Voldemort to do. Why not just kill you?"  
  
"Perhaps he's not strong enough?" Ron guessed.  
  
"Or perhaps it's because nothing makes sense anymore," Harry supplied. "I mean, really. Let's just go with the flow here."  
  
"You know Harry, maybe this is Malfoy's work," Ron suggested.  
  
"This curse is far too powerful for Draco Malfoy to perform," Hermione happily said. "No Harry, I'm afraid someone more sinister and evil is at work."  
  
"Yes. Voldemort. Guys, there's really no mystery here. It's always Voldemort."  
  
"Except for that time when it was Tom Riddle," Ron added.  
  
"No, that was still Voldemort. It was teen Voldemort."  
  
"Well maybe the person who's behind this is baby Voldemort."  
  
Harry and Hermione stared at Ron.  
  
"Got any lamb legs left?" Harry asked Hermione.  
  
"I wish."  
  
"Well, anything's possible now! I mean look at what happened to my bloody rat! He was actually a human! So don't sneer at my ideas!"  
  
Ron stormed up the staircase that led to the boys' dormitory.  
  
Hermione sighed. "What a ninny."  
  
"Oh please. The sexual tension between you two is so obvious even Neville can see it."  
  
Hermione pushed a suit of armor at Harry and ran up the stairs to the girls' dormitories.  
  
Harry pushed the heavy armor off of him, adjusted his glasses, and picked himself off the floor. "Why the violent tendencies?" He asked.  
  
Just then, Hedwig collided into his head. Harry fell once more. "Geez, is it 'Whack Potter Silly Day'?" He muttered to himself, getting up from the stone floor once more. "What do you have for me, Hedwig?"  
  
Hedwig gave him a look that said "I'm an owl idiot, I can't talk", left an envelope in his hand, and flew off.  
  
Harry looked at the envelope in his hand. It was crisply folded and addressed. There was no return address. He tore it open and pulled out the letter inside. It said this:  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
I have a terrible crush on you. I'm sure you've noticed. Every time I see you, I walk into something. Yesterday I saw you at Quidditch practice and walked into a tree. I passed out, and was unconscious for hours. No one noticed. Whoops! You're so perfect, Harry Potter, so perfect in every way. If I were with you, I'd kiss your scar and draw you a nice bubble bath. Then I'd make you some tea sandwiches.  
  
Love,  
  
Your Secret Love Bunny"  
  
Harry stared at the letter, puzzled, almost hoping it would tell him what it meant. But of course, letters can't talk. Except for howlers. But this wasn't a howler. No, this was the opposite. This was a "hugger".  
  
The confused young man pondered the strange hugger all the way to his bed. Sighing heavily, he pulled of his shirt and reached for his pajama top. He froze in mid-dress when he noticed the eerie pair of eyes staring at him from the darkness of his bed.  
  
"Neville, I've already asked you not to watch me undress; it makes me nervous," Harry wearily explained for the third time.  
  
"Mr. Potter is not happy to see Dobby?" came a screechy high-pitched voice from the pair of eyes.  
  
"Oh no…" Harry moaned.  
  
Chapter 5 is coming soon! (Not that anyone is actually going to read it; I just like announcing my personal goals.) 


	5. A Chapter As Short As Dobby

DISCLAIMER: Once again, I must say that I did not create any of the characters in this story and do not own any of them. Not even Dobby. I am not affiliated with J. K. Rowling, and I'm sure if she met me she'd run the other way.  
  
SHOUT-OUT: To everyone who read my story (and enjoyed it), you should seek professional help. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200. That being said, I love you all!! [sob] Your reviews totally made my millennium. Okay, on with the story.  
  
EXCUSE: This is all I can give you guys till the weekend. Sad, I know.  
  
RECAP: Harry goes to bed. Dobby is there. (Whew, that was some summary, I know.)  
  
"Mr. Harry Potter, Dobby has some very troubling news for you!"  
  
"What is it now Dobby?" Harry groaned, shoving Dobby off his bed.  
  
Dobby lept off Harry's scarlet comforter and sat on his trunk. "Oh Mr. Potter is indeed in much trouble now!"  
  
"Goodnight Dobby," Harry firmly insisted. He pulled the sheets over his head.  
  
"Mr. Potter is not listening to Dobby?"  
  
Harry pretended to snore.  
  
"Mr. Harry Potter is going to die tomorrow!" Dobby shrieked.  
  
"What??" Harry darted from his sleeping position.  
  
Dobby's little mouth formed a great "O" shape. "Dobby should not have told you that, sir!" Dobby began banging his little elf head against Harry's four-poster bed.  
  
"SSHHH!!" Harry hissed.  
  
The other Gryffindor lads stirred in their sleep, but none woke.  
  
"Dobby is a bad house-elf, Mr. Harry!"  
  
"Dobby is a good house-elf! Dobby just needs to tell Mr. Harry Potter about the news! Mr. Harry – I mean, me – I, rather – I feel I deserve to know if I'm going to die tomorrow."  
  
"The good news sir, is that Harry has sixty-two percent of life if he avoids doing anything!" Dobby offered.  
  
"Dobby, please tell me what's going to happen to me!"  
  
"The Dark Lord has it in for Mr. Potter!" Dobby whispered. Then he bit his lip. "Dobby has done it again! Dobby has said something he shouldn't! Dobby deserves much pain for this!" Dobby slammed his fingers in Harry's trunk.  
  
"Dobby, pleeeease stop it," Harry pleaded. "Dobby, why do you need to be so secretive anyway? You're no longer under the house of Lucius Malfoy."  
  
"Dobby has been working for someone. Dobby does his errands. Dobby has been trusted with secrets. Dobby has told these secrets to Harry Potter. Dobby is not a good house-elf. Dobby wishes he were dead. Dobby thinks he should go into the forbidden forest and wait for something to eat him. Dobby thinks-  
  
"Dobby go away," Harry interrupted, rubbing his temples.  
  
"Please do not get mad at Dobby," Dobby begged. "Dobby exaggerated. Mr. Potter is not going to die tomorrow; Dobby just said that to get his attention." Dobby's eyes grew to the size of doughnuts. "Oh no, Dobby has told a lie! Dobby is a bad house-elf!" Dobby grabbed George's wooden beater club and began hitting himself with it in the head.  
  
"DOBBY!" Harry warned, as loud as he dared.  
  
"Harry Potter has yelled at Dobby! Dobby is even worse then he thought! Dobby should die!" And with that, Dobby threw himself out of the window.  
  
Harry was silent for a moment, waiting for him to return. He didn't.  
  
"Well thank goodness that's over with," Harry sighed with relief, and pulled himself back into bed. 


	6. The Young and the Crazy

DISCLAIMER: I still don't own any of the characters in this story. Or any of the Rowling terminology (i.e. "Quidditch"). But I did coin the phrase "Secret Love Bunny" and am damn proud of it.  
  
The next morning, Harry and Ron trudged downstairs to the great hall. Harry piled his plate with food, but did not feel like eating. He sat in thought, poking at his pickled herring.  
  
"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione asked, noting his strange behavior.  
  
"I got a letter from my 'Secret Love Bunny'," Harry responded. "And when I went to bed Dobby was there and started muttering all this gibberish about my impending doom and then he killed himself."  
  
"What's a 'Secret Love Bunny'?" Ron asked.  
  
Harry explained the whole Love Bunny ordeal. When he finished, Ron fell off his chair, because he was laughing so hard.  
  
"AHAHAHAHAHA HARRY HAS A SECRET LOVE BUNNY!" Ron screeched, rolling around on the floor.  
  
"Ron, shhh!" Harry pleaded. But it was too late.  
  
"A Secret Love Bunny?" said a snooty voice from behind. "How…*cute*. Bet it's Ginny Weasley."  
  
Ginny, who was seated a few ways down from her brother, heard, and her face turned as red as strawberry jam. At the mention of Harry, her crush, she knocked over a pitcher and sent a river of pumpkin juice down Neville's lap who had the misfortune of sitting across from her. Harry turned around. "What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly.  
  
"Nothing from you, Potter. I just couldn't help but overhear you loud, unpleasant voice."  
  
"That's EXACTLY what I said!" called Oliver from the end of the table.  
  
"So, another lemming has fallen for the amazing Harry Potter, eh?" Draco stated amusedly.  
  
"What have you got up your sleeve, Malfoy?" Ron grilled, picking himself off the floor.  
  
"Certainty nothing for you, Weasley. My family already made a donation to the poor."  
  
Ron's head began shaking with rage, and his face turned as red the Gryffindor Quidditch robes.  
  
"Draco, leave us alone," Hermione demanded.  
  
"Well if it isn't the little mudblood," Draco drawled.  
  
"Don't call her that, Malfoy," Harry warned.  
  
"Don't call her what? Mudblood? You mean M-U-D…" Draco began singing the word as though he were singing the Mickey Mouse Club Theme.  
  
Crabbe and Goyle joined in. "B-L-O…"  
  
"Why?" Draco added. "Because we hate you."  
  
The Slytherins heard their loud singing and sang along.  
  
"O-OooOooh-Deeee!"  
  
They all howled with laughter.  
  
Ron's head began shaking with rage. It looked like a cherry bomb was about to explode. Harry poured a cool glass of water over his head to keep him from frying.  
  
"Well Potter, I have to be on my way. Quidditch practice is about to start and the team can't function without their star seeker," Draco drawled. "That's me," he added, just to make sure everyone knew.  
  
"Well durr," Hermione mumbled.  
  
Draco snapped his fingers. "Draco away!" and with that command Crabbe and Goyle hoisted him up (with much grunting) and carried him away.  
  
"It's all right Ron, he's not worth it," Hermione insisted.  
  
Quite suddenly Hedwig slammed into Harry's head, titling his glasses askew.  
  
"Geez Hedwig, have you been flying drunk?" Harry asked.  
  
"Hoot coo hoot HOOT!" Hedwig snipped, as she drunkenly flew up to the owlery, hitting the heads of some unsuspecting first years as she passed.  
  
"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked of the small piece of parchment in his hand.  
  
"Is it your SECRET LOVE BUNNY?" Ron teased, and Harry threw his half-eating pickled herring at him.  
  
"Aw bullocks," Ron cursed, "I thought we were done with heaving old food at me."  
  
Harry ignored Ron and read the note. It simply said  
  
"Please see me at my office. The password is "Sweet Tarts".  
  
-Albus Dumbledore  
  
"It's from Professor Dumbledore," Harry shared.  
  
"Wonder what he wants from you, Harry?" Ron asked, reeking of herring.  
  
"I thought he was in Yemen for a Goblin Conference!" Hermione noted. Then a great hole opened from beneath her chair and she fell into it, which is what she got for pointing out the author's stupidity. "I mean, I wonder if it's about the curse!" Hermione mused from inside the hole. "Why don't you go and find out?"  
  
"Okay," Harry agreed, and he set off for Dumbledore's office.  
  
After a long walk up the spiral staircase, Harry arrived at Dumbledore's door. "Sweet Tarts!" he commanded, and was let in.  
  
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore croaked, sounding like he was going to die at any minute, just like in the movie. "Please, sit down."  
  
Harry obeyed Dumbledore's request and sat in a plush chair across from Dumbledore, who was seated at his desk.  
  
"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry prompted.  
  
"Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry."  
  
"Er…yes, sir?"  
  
"Harry, Harry, Harry."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
Dumbledore paused for a moment, and stared at Harry with glassy eyes. Then he abruptly stood up, knocking a sneakoscope off his desk in the process.  
  
"Hello Harry. Please sit down."  
  
"Professor…I am sitting down."  
  
"Oh! So you are." Dumbledore paused, sat down, and then paused again. "Would you like a cookie?"  
  
"A cookie, sir?"  
  
"Why yes, I'd love one!" Dumbledore smiled.  
  
Harry stared curiously at Dumbledore  
  
…Who continued to smile.  
  
Harry cleared his throat.  
  
"Well, where is my cookie?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"I don't have a cookie, sir."  
  
"Ah, Harry. This is one of life's greatest lessons. If you have a cookie, you should share it, but if you do not have it, you must not offer it. You cannot offer all of life's cookies, Harry," Dumbledore preached.  
  
Harry sat dumbfounded. "Er, sir, why did you ask me to see you?"  
  
"Ah, Harry, yes, please, sit down."  
  
"Oh…all right." For the sake of the befuddled old man, Harry stood up, and sat back down.  
  
"Harry, Harry. I have some wise words of advice for you, if you may be so brave as to listen to them."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"One: do not expect others to give you the purple monkey of desire. If you want to gain the purple monkey, you must achieve it through the yellow goose. The yellow goose knows what three birds in the bush is worth, and they are more important than a needle in a haystack."  
  
Harry stared at Dumbledore. "Er…what?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"What did that mean?"  
  
"What did what mean?"  
  
"That 'purple monkey of desire' speech?"  
  
"There's a purple funny friar? The Purple Funny Friar is here?!?! Well let him in dear boy, let him in!!"  
  
"What??" Harry asked with alarm.  
  
"The door, Harry. If you would please be so kind to answer the door." Dumbledore smiled.  
  
Harry, more confused than Neville in potions, walked to the door, and opened it.  
  
"Sir…there's no one there," he reported.  
  
Dumbledore stood up. "Purple Funny Friar! How wonderful to see you! Come in please, come in!"  
  
Harry stared at the empty doorway. "Sir…I really don't think-  
  
"Oh nonsense Harry, he's invisible!" Dumbledore paused. "Hello? Purple Funny Friar? Where did you go?"  
  
Dumbledore began waving his hands around in the air, perhaps hoping to touch the invisible (or non-existent) friar.  
  
"Oh dear Harry, I'm afraid I've made a mistake." Dumbledore frowned. "There is no friar here." He sat down, dejected. "Harry, please close the door."  
  
Harry smiled weakly. "Don't be glum, sir. It happens to all of us." Harry crossed to the door and shut it.  
  
"Come in!" Dumbledore announced, smiling cheerily.  
  
Harry stared at Dumbledore.  
  
Dumbledore smiled back.  
  
Harry gave him a confused look.  
  
Dumbledore continued to smile.  
  
Harry sighed.  
  
"Harry, hello. Please sit down."  
  
Harry rolled his eyes and sat down in his chair. "Professor, did you want to talk to me or not?" Harry said, with as much politeness as he could muster.  
  
"Yes, yes, yes dear boy, there will be plenty of time to talk. But not now! It's teatime! Clean cup, move down!" Dumbledore stood up and hit a gong behind him.  
  
"What??" Harry asked, more confused than before.  
  
Dumbledore began circling around his desk to Harry's seat.  
  
"Move down Harry, so you can have a clean cup."  
  
Harry stared at the smiling Dumbledore, shrugged, and circled the desk. He sat in Dumbledore's seat.  
  
"Wonderful!" the professor exclaimed. "And now, for the tea!" He clapped his hands. An anvil fell through the ceiling, blasted straight through the desk, and crashed through the next twenty floors.  
  
"So sorry!" Dumbledore called down. "Dear me, I've seem to forgotten just how to work these things," he muttered, staring at his hands. "Hmm…let's try…this!" He clapped his hands twice.  
  
Harry's chair burst into flames. "YYYEEEOWCH!!!" Harry screamed, darting up from his seat, black smoke burning from his bottom.  
  
"Gracious!" Dumbledore exclaimed. He grabbed a wand on his desk. "Aquarius aquannious!" He shouted, waving his wand. It began to rain heavily inside the office.  
  
"AAAaaaahhhh…" Harry sighed with relief, as his bum cooled. The rain ceased.  
  
"You know, I think I've really got it this time," Dumbledore said confidently, raising his hands for another clap.  
  
"No, really Professor, it's okay, I don't want any te-  
  
"Tea please!" Dumbledore commanded, clapping his hands.  
  
A teapot appeared on the table, along with two cups and saucers. Harry ducked. He looked up, saw the harmless tea set, and calmed.  
  
"Thank goodness," he muttered.  
  
"Tea, Harry?" Dumbledore offered.  
  
"Sure, why not," Harry murmured warily.  
  
Dumbledore poured a cup for Harry and himself. He had a sip. "Delicious," he declared. "Harry, look, we're soaking wet. Perhaps I should dry us off?"  
  
"No, I don't mind water, it keeps me hydrated," Harry insisted, slurping his tea. He began to stand up. "I should go-  
  
"Windy mindy!" Dumbledore shouted, and at once a heavy wind blew through the open window. It caught papers and swirled them up in the air, and tossed Harry's hair around. After a few seconds, everything was dry. "Windy go bye-bye!" Dumbledore commanded. It got windier. Harry gripped the back of his chair to keep from blowing away.  
  
"Hmmm…windy go bye-bye pleasey weasey?" Dumbledore asked. Percy fell through the open hole in the ceiling, and got swept up in the storm.  
  
"AAAGAGGGHHH I'M A PREFECT!!" Percy screamed, as he slammed into object after object. "PERFECTS SHOULD NOT BE TREATED IN SUCH A MATTER!!! I WILL INFORM THE MINISTRY!!!"  
  
"I said 'weasey' not 'Weasley'!" Dumbledore yelled. The wind stopped. Percy slammed into the floor. He groaned with pain.  
  
Dumbledore calmly sat down. "Percy Weasley, what are you doing here?" he asked.  
  
"I don't know sir!" Percy shouted, close to tears.  
  
"Dumbledore's a bit balmy today," Harry whispered to poor Percy. "Run. Run for your life. Run like the devil possessed you."  
  
Percy nodded, a bit frightened. "Goodbye sir!" he yelled to Dumbledore, and shot out of the room.  
  
"Curious young gentleman," Dumbledore remarked. "Reminds me of myself when I was young, except for the red hair, and the freckles, and the fact that he doesn't remind me of myself at all."  
  
"Professor," Harry pleaded, "I really think I should go. I'll be late to class."  
  
"But Harry," Dumbledore protested, "I didn't finish dispensing advice. Please, sit down."  
  
Harry buried his face in his hands. "Pleeeeease…please don't make me," Harry said desperately.  
  
"Then you may stand. I will tell you this: there is something after you, Harry. I have always been a firm believer in the truth. And the truth is, your hair looks is a menace to society. You are in grave danger, Harry. But there is something that can protect you."  
  
Harry paused. Perhaps this was advice he could use, he thought. "Yes?"  
  
"Love, Harry. Love. Love can protect you. Love is like a battlefield. Love lifts you up where you belong. Love is all you need. Love is like a river, peaceful and deep. Love love me do, Harry. Love love me do."  
  
Harry sighed and stared at Dumbledore, who was smiling.  
  
"Evol is love spelled backwards, Harry."  
  
"I realize that, sir."  
  
"And evol is the begging of evolution."  
  
"Yes…I suppose it is," Harry said slowly, backing towards the door.  
  
"And evolution is like elevation. Elevation!" Dumbledore said, raising his arms. "El-ev-a-shun!!!"  
  
Harry felt his hand on the doorknob. "Yes, sir."  
  
"And elevation is like an elevator, but an elevator is not an elephant. Never forget this, Harry."  
  
Harry nodded. He slowly opened the door. "I won't sir." He stepped out into the doorway.  
  
"And an elephant never forgets! Never!"  
  
Harry turned around and ran for his life. Behind him he could hear Dumbledore yell "Harry, wait! I would like my cookie! My cookie! HAAARRRRRRYYYY!" 


	7. Harry Potter Sends a Message Trying Not ...

Harry Potter Sends a Message Trying Not to Violate the No Spam Rule  
  
"Hello readers!" Harry said brightly in the Gryffindor common room one day.  
  
"Er, Harry? Who are you talking to?" Ron asked, perplexed.  
  
"Why, the readers of course!"  
  
"Me?" asked Hermione, who glanced up from Hogwarts: A History.  
  
"No. The readers," Harry said patiently.  
  
"Harry, you're balmy today," Fred remarked from the floor, who was playing exploding snaps with George.  
  
"Yeah Harry, balmy and nutters," George added.  
  
"Balmy, nutters, and loony," Fred added.  
  
"Balmy, nutters, loony, and off-his-rocker," George dared.  
  
"Balmy, nutters, loony, off-his-rocker, and nutty!"  
  
"Ha! You lost! Nutters and nutty are the same thing!" George declared triumphantly.  
  
"Oh bullocks," Fred cursed good-naturedly.  
  
"So Harry, what's this announcement you have?" Hermione asked.  
  
"I just wanted to tell all the readers that the author is not being lazy and feels bad for not updating but she's very busy and is just not satisfied with chapter seven at all."  
  
"But Harry!" Hermione gasped. "Isn't this in violation of the no-spam rule? Isn't this technically considered spam?"  
  
"Not the way I look at it, Hermione. You see, this isn't just an announcement, oh no. This has to deal with the plot. This is a crucial part of the story."  
  
"How is announcing that the author is a lazy prat part of our plot?" Ron said quizzically.  
  
"One: the author is not lazy, and two: try saying that three times fast!"  
  
"You're a real crack-up Harry," Ron answered.  
  
"I know."  
  
Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "I don't know Harry. This really seems to me like it's an example of 'non-fic' and is frowned upon."  
  
"But it isn't, Hermione. Had we not announced this, than Voldemort would have killed me."  
  
"Harry, that doesn't make any sense."  
  
"And neither does this fic," Harry responded. "Not any of it. Voldemort is taking the time to give me bad hair, Ron is actually calling Voldemort by name, you have a never-ending supply of food to throw, Dumbledore is a raging idiot lunatic, I'm getting notes from a 'Secret Love Bunny', there's a book called Curses for Dummies in the library, you fell into a gigantic hole and miraculously got out, we keep referring to ourselves as though we know we're in a story, -  
  
"ENOUGH! I get it! Sorry I asked!" and with that outburst, Hermione turned back to her book.  
  
"The author would also like to say that her muse has left her, and she cannot write anything remotely funny."  
  
"Like the last several chapters, for instance?" Ron asked.  
  
Guys, this isn't cool. The characters aren't supposed to fight back.  
  
"I'm not fighting – I'm simply pointing out your various flaws."  
  
Okay, but enough already.  
  
"Really, when are you going to continue our story? I want to know what happens to my hair."  
  
You know what, Harry? Give me a freaking break. I am doing my best. I simply ran out of inspiration, and I'm doing like, 24242498246 other things, and I'm not feeling well.  
  
"This is just so sad. You're having a conversation with yourself."  
  
Am not.  
  
"Are too."  
  
Why are you so mean to me? Harry Potter is supposed to be nice.  
  
"Harry Potter is sick of being nice."  
  
Harry, I don't like your attitude.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm just a bit irritable lately."  
  
Yeah, well…  
  
"Can I just ask a question?"  
  
What is it, Ron.  
  
"Why does food get thrown at me?"  
  
I dunno. It sounded funny.  
  
"It's not."  
  
I think it is.  
  
"It's getting old."  
  
No it isn't.  
  
"Yeah, it is."  
  
No it isn't.  
  
"Yeah it-  
  
BONK!  
  
"OOOOOWWCH!!! GEEZ! THAT BLOODY HURT!! COCONUTS TO THE HEAD ARE ACTUALLY QUITE PAINFUL!!"  
  
Aahahahahahahaha. See? It's still funny.  
  
(And yes, I'll be shipped off to St. Mungo's any day now. Look, here come the men in the white coats. Whheeeeee!) 


	8. Harry Says Some Stupid Things

Chapter 7: Harry Says Some Stupid Things  
  
LEGAL THANG: You know the drill. I am not affiliated with J. K. Rowling or anything to do with her, and I do not own the characters in this story.  
  
SHOUT-OUT: Another warm thanks to anyone who read my story (even warmer if you liked it) and a special Love Bunny hug to those of you who reviewed. Don't get too excited, though. These are internet-only hugs. Can only be used in cyberspace - not in real life. Glad we got that straightened out.  
  
SPOILERS: Something is revealed about the end of book 4.  
  
INSIDE INFO: In true Rowling fashion, I have written the last few chapters already. And for those of you who are interested, the last word of the last chapter is "Buffoon". Exciting stuff, eh?!  
  
RECAP: Harry is being cursed. He did some stuff. Draco made fun of him. Harry did more stuff. Then he went to see Dumbledore, who was a raving lunatic. So Harry ran away. And here we are.  
  
QUICK NOTE: In chapter 5 (I think) I stated that the first class the Potter 3 had was Care of Magical Creatures. Pretend I said Transfiguration class instead, okay? That's a good reader. You'll get a cookie later!  
  
Harry ran all the way to the dining hall, pumping his little legs as hard as he could. Once in the dining hall, he threw himself at his chair, missed, and promptly collapsed.  
  
"Harry, get off the floor," Hermione scolded. "It's time for class."  
  
"Cant - *pant* - go to *pant* class," Harry managed to say.  
  
"Oh come on Harry, If you battled Voldemort three times you can manage to pick yourself up and go to class," Ron reasoned, as he pulled Harry off the floor.  
  
"So what did Professor Dumbledore have to say?" Hermione asked, as Potter's Angels walked to Transfiguration. Actually, Ron and Hermione walked, Harry sort of limped behind, falling on Ron's shoulder for support.  
  
"Nothing important," Harry panted. "He was nuttier than a pecan tart. I think he's losing his touch."  
  
"Yeah, and he's like, what, 49072 years old?" Ron asked.  
  
"Harry, after class we'll stay behind and talk to Professor McGonagall about that permission slip," Hermione announced, keeping her mind on their important task.  
  
"How does my hair look?" Harry asked apprehensively.  
  
Ron and Hermione stopped walking. They glanced at each other. Ron nodded. "Go on," he urged.  
  
"Well...err...it looks...not too dreadful," Hermione lied.  
  
"Yeah...I've seen worse...sort of," Ron added.  
  
Harry grinned. "Thanks guys," he said.  
  
In reality, Harry's hair looked like a giant, messy sombrero. It swirled all over the place, stuck up where it pleased, and growled at passersby. It terrorized the first-years.  
  
"Think I should do it?" Ron whispered to Hermione.  
  
"Definitely," she whispered back. Ron nodded.  
  
"Really, Harry, it's going to be okay," Ron assured, and patted him on the back.  
  
"Thanks!" Harry said, beaming. Feeling energetic, he skipped off to class.  
  
Hermione and Ron stared guiltily at the sign Ron taped on Harry's back. It read "MAKE FUN OF MY HAIR AND I'LL PERFORM THE IMPERIOUS CURSE ON YOU"  
  
"Desperate times call for desperate measures," Hermione assured Ron.  
  
"I know, I know," he sighed. "Poor little bugger."  
  
Transfiguration class came and went - it came as a burden to the students who couldn't do anything right, and went well for Hermione who successfully managed to turn her doorknob into a turtle.  
  
"Professor, Neville needs your help, quick!" yelled Seamus, who was staring in horror at the crazed doorknob-turtle that was slapping Neville in the face.  
  
Finally, class ended, and the students filed out. All except for the Potter Palsies. They approached Professor McGonagall who was scribbling at her desk. Ron cleared his throat to alert her attention.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" she asked, without lifting her head.  
  
"Professor, you're not speaking in a Scottish accent!" Ron observed.  
  
"Of course not, Mr. Weasley. Why would I?"  
  
"Exactly," everyone chorused. They smiled, gave thumbs up, and returned to the scene.  
  
"Is there something you three need?" McGonagall asked, eyeing the Potterific Trio.  
  
"Professor, I don't know if you've noticed the terrible state my hair is in," Harry began.  
  
"Yes, I have Mr. Potter, I just didn't want to alarm you. Do you think I'm blind?"  
  
"No, Professor. Well, my hair has never been this bad. It has become clear to us now that I am under the Pelligrosa Curse. And we were informed of a book in the library that could help me treat this curse. The book we desire, however, is in the restricted section, and we were hoping you could write us a permission slip to obtain this book."  
  
"Mr. Potter, if you are indeed under the Pelligrosa Curse, which you very well might be, you'll need more than a book to defeat it. You'll need cunning, bravery, skill, at least one encounter with the Dark Lord himself, and several ingredients to concoct a potion to help you cure it."  
  
"Yes, Professor. But perhaps the ingredients to this potion are in that book?"  
  
McGonagall studied young, hopeful Potter's face. Her gaze went upward, and she saw just how truly terrible young Potter's hair was, and what a dire situation young Potter was in.  
  
"Well young Potter, I suppose drastic situations call for drastic actions. I will write you a slip for this book, but I insist you not brew the potion yourself."  
  
"Thank you Professor!" Harry cheered, Ron and Hermione whooping it up.  
  
McGonagall began transcribing a note of permission for the Potter lad. "Mr. Potter, if the book contains the ingredients you desire and you obtain them, I order that you ask Professor Snape for his help in brewing the potion."  
  
Ron and Hermione stopped whooping. Harry's face fell.  
  
"But...but Professor!" Harry began to object.  
  
"Professor Snape is an excellent potions instructor, and there is no doubt that an ailment for the Pelligrosa Curse will be very difficult to brew indeed. You will need his help."  
  
"But Professor!"  
  
Professor McGonagall held up her hand. "Enough, Mr. Potter. If you want this slip, you will do as I say. You've already had fifteen brushes with death, at least. Let's not make it sixteen."  
  
Harry silently groaned. Professor McGonagall handed him the finished slip. "Thank you Professor," the trio chorused, sullen as a group of Death Eaters.  
  
"You're welcome. Now off with you!"  
  
Harry stomped grumpily to Gryffindor tower. "Harry!" Ron and Hermione called behind him. "Wait!" But there was no waiting for young, angry, hairy Potter. "Stupid...sonofa...Snape...lousy crud...stupid hair...stupid Voldemort...stupid Professors ...stupid Michael Jackson for selling Beatles songs to stupid corporations for their stupid commercials ..." Harry incoherently muttered and rambled, as he stomped away. He was so intent on stomping and rambling that he slammed right into someone.  
  
"Ack! Harry! Ya better watch where you're going!"  
  
"Oh, Hullo Oliver. You seem awfully Scottish today."  
  
"Yes...well...it's supposed to be some sort of comedic thing. So Harry, what ya been up to?"  
  
"Oh, j - wait a minute Oliver."  
  
"Yes, wee Harry?"  
  
"...you graduated."  
  
"I - what?"  
  
"You graduated. Your last year was in book three. You're on the Puddlemere quidditch reserve team or something."  
  
"Ah...no I'm not."  
  
Harry furrowed his brow (which, by the way, was tweezed in a really bizarre way. Just something you notice after seeing the movie too often, as I did.) "Oliver, I'm positive you graduated."  
  
"Well...then I guess I'm stuck here. But I suppose it's all right. I mean, nothing really makes sense anymore."  
  
"GO SPEED DRACO! GO SPEED DRACO! GO SPEED DRACO GOOOOO!"  
  
Harry and Oliver turned their heads in the direction of the noise, which was coming from down the hall. Crabbe and Goyle were sprinting down the hall, Draco hoisted up in their arms, yelling.  
  
"Ack! Harry! Get out of the way, lad!"  
  
Time seemed to pass in slow motion, as Harry and Oliver darted out of harm's way. They heard Crabbe and Goyle pant heavily as they ran past with Draco. As Draco sped away, he turned his stunningly blond head around and snickered,  
  
"Ha ha, Potter! Looks like you'll always have to make way for me!"  
  
In utter confusion, Harry and Oliver picked themselves off the ground and gave each other a quizzical look.  
  
"What in the bloody hell of Loch Ness was that?" Oliver asked.  
  
"I don't know," Harry said, befuddled.  
  
"I believe I can shed some light on that," said a snooty voice from above.  
  
"AGH! Myrtle! You scared me."  
  
Myrtle pouted. "Oh, of course Myrtle scares everyone. Myrtle's dead, of course she's scary."  
  
"Myrtle, I didn't mean it like that..."  
  
"Ach Harry, you must introduce me to your transparent friend," Oliver said suavely, smoothing down his collar.  
  
"Oh...er...Myrtle, this is Oliver Wood. Oliver, this is Myrtle."  
  
Myrtle blushed a pearly shade. "I've seen you before. I used to waft around in the quidditch locker room."  
  
"Myrtle!" Harry exclaimed, horrified.  
  
"Didja like what ya saw, my wee lass?"  
  
Myrtle giggled.  
  
Harry decided to ignore what just happened. "So Myrtle, you said you could shed some light on what Malfoy was doing."  
  
"Yes, I can. He's practicing for quidditch."  
  
"He was practicing for quidditch? How so?"  
  
"This year, school funds are particularly shoddy, so instead of brooms on the quidditch field, everyone has to play on each other's shoulders."  
  
"WHAT?!" Harry and Oliver screamed.  
  
Myrtle grinned at their misery. "It's true."  
  
"Well how come I didn't hear about it?!" Harry demanded.  
  
"MAYBE if you weren't always trying to solve a mystery or defeat the dark side, you would have paid more attention to school events."  
  
"Keep your nose out of my business!"  
  
"Oh! I get it! Myrtle's nose is so big, it can't help but get into peoples' way! `Hey, look out everyone, for Myrtle's giant schnozzle!'"  
  
"Relax, m'lady. Harry didn't mean that."  
  
Harry scowled at Oliver. "Yes I did!"  
  
Myrtle burst into tears.  
  
"Now ya got her blubberin like a whale!"  
  
Myrtle sobbed harder. "So now Myrtle is compared to a whale?! Because she's so fat and slimy?"  
  
"And bumpy," Harry added softly.  
  
"Myrtle, no, I didn't mean it like that, lass. I just meant you were crying hard."  
  
"Oh, so Myrtle cries hard because she's a baby, is that it?"  
  
"No Myrtle, you're not a baby!"  
  
"So Myrtle's an old woman then? Myrtle looks like she's all old and wrinkly? Because SHE'S DEAD?!"  
  
"Ach! Lassie, I didn't mean that either!"  
  
"So what you're saying is Myrtle doesn't know what people mean!"  
  
"No, I-  
  
"Oh, so suddenly it's all `I, I, I?' So no one cares about Myrtle anymore? Of course no one cares about Myrtle anymore - SHE'S DEAD!"  
  
"No-  
  
"No? Oh, so now everyone says `no' to Myrtle? No Myrtle, I don't want to hang out with you - BECAUSE YOU'RE DEAD!  
  
"N-  
  
"N? N?! Yes, everyone just say `N' around Myrtle, because she's not really worth talking to, BECAUSE SHE'S DEAD!" And with that final exclamatory response, Myrtle sobbed herself away to her toilet.  
  
Oliver glanced at Harry and shrugged. "Women."  
  
Suddenly, Harry gasped in alarm. His crush, Cho "Kimono Dragon" Chang, was rounding the corner, heading straight towards Harry. Cho was like Harry's veela. Just the sight of her made him forget how to form words.  
  
"Oliver! Cho is coming this way!"  
  
"Ah, Cho. A fair lass."  
  
"Oliver, you have to help me! Every time I'm around her, I freeze and don't know what to say!"  
  
"Ah, ya get the ole `cat got the tongue', eh?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"So you get a case of the `weebie geebies', eh?"  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"Gotcha. When you see her, you get all `buggy and mouth-brussled, and ya can't make heads or tails out of the strumpet hum-dinger', eh?  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"You're saying you get all `where am I, Father Christmas, and where-  
  
"YES OLIVER, YES! And she is getting even closer! Please! Help me be suave. I've won you three quidditch games at least! You owe me!"  
  
"All right lad, don't get your kilt in a twist. Here's what we'll do. I know this spell that will put my voice in your head. All ya do is repeat what I say and you'll be hotter than a flapjack on a cold winter's morn."  
  
"Thanks! This has been done countless times in American sitcoms and has always gone awry, but I'm British and the Dursley's don't allow me to watch the television, so let's do it! And Oliver...you're getting kind of weird."  
  
"True, m'lad. But I'm still devilishly hot." Oliver struck a grin, and reached for his wand. He muttered an incantation and swirled his wand above his head, and then Harry's. "We're all set!" He confirmed. "I'll just hide behind that pillar." Oliver darted behind the pillar just in time.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Cho greeted.  
  
"Ah...er...ab...dah...dab dab," said Harry. And then he heard Oliver's voice echo inside his brain. "Ach, hullo Cho. Ya look mighty beautiful today."  
  
"Ach, hullo Cho. Ya look mighty beautiful today."  
  
Cho eyed Harry strangely. "Er...thanks. Um...what is with your hair."  
  
Harry paused for Oliver's response. Then-  
  
"It's a wee bit temperamental ever since I tried to tame it for my quidditch photo last year. So what brings you, such a fair lass, down this very hall?"  
  
"Well Harry, I just wanted to thank you. For last year. For bringing...him back. I never properly thanked you."  
  
"Ach Cho, tis nothing at all. Cedric was a good lad."  
  
"Yes..."  
  
Oliver was suddenly startled by a spider that crawled across his hand.  
  
"ACH! SWEET CRAP ON A CRACKER!"  
  
"What?!?!"  
  
Harry's eyes grew wide as he realized what he just said. Then Oliver spoke in his brain.  
  
"Ach...I was just thinking about ya know, all of the terror that went on last year. Nasty business. Brings back quite the tear to my eye, foggy as the Scotland mist."  
  
Cho stared at Harry for quite some time. A tumbleweed passed by.  
  
"Well...okay. It was...er, `nice' talking to you, Harry."  
  
"And you, Cho, my little sweet blossom."  
  
"Later Harry," she said quickly, and ran off.  
  
Harry waited until she was a safe distance away and then screamed  
  
"OLIVER! HOW COULD YOU LET ME SAY THAT RUBBISH?!"  
  
"Ach, relax my messy haired lad. She likes ya."  
  
Harry fumed. "Just get out of my sight."  
  
Oliver shrugged. "Later, Harry. And if ya can, get me the number for that sullen, ghostly lassie, eh?" Oliver grinned and jogged off. Harry sighed dejectedly.  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
Harry turned around and saw Hermione speeding towards him. "I GOT THE BOOK!" She hollered triumphantly. "CATCH!"  
  
Hermione hurled the fourteen-inch book at Harry. He caught it and tipped backwards because of its weight. "UGH...this is HEAVY..." Harry grunted from underneath the book.  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
"Yeah?" Harry said, struggling to get the book off him.  
  
"IT'S ME, RON! I GOT YA SOMETHING!"  
  
Harry shoved the book off him and stood up. "Hullo Ron."  
  
"CATCH!" Ron threw the twelve-inch "Curses for Dummies Cliffs Notes" at Harry, who caught it and fell back again.  
  
"You sure are lucky to have friends like us, Harry," Hermione observed, staring at the struggling boy.  
  
"Yeah Harry, we're real helpful. But we do it because we're your friends and we care."  
  
"Thanks Ron," Harry said weakly, about ready to pass out. 


	9. Whatever's in the Potion Can't Taste Wor...

SHOUT OUT: Before you all throw pitchforks at me, I would like to say in self-defense that I haven't updated for ages because my stupid computer crashed and had to be sent back to the mother ship. Then my brain crashed, and I couldn't think of what to write. So I hope ya'll like this chapter, and if you don't, blame it on the radiation from my cell phone.  
  
INSIDE INFO: This chapter is bound to be full of errors of all sorts, as most of the chapters are. I'm not too good with the grammar and such, and my spelling is attroshush. DEAL WITH IT. MWUAHAHAHAHAHAHA. *ahem. sorry*  
  
RECAP: Harry ran into Oliver Wood, who acted strangely. Oliver tried to get Cho interested in Harry, but that didn't go well. Then Ron and Hermione found Harry and threw heavy books at him. Harry fell to the floor.  
  
SPOILERS: Stuff about book 3 is revealed.  
  
BY THE WAY…  
  
Did you know that it's pretty hard to write Snape?  
  
Chapter 8: Whatever's in the Potion Can't Taste Worse than Pepsi One  
  
After Harry regained his strength, The Three Blind Potters shuffled down to the dungeon, books in hand.  
  
"You sure you want to do this, Harry?" Ron asked, freckles pale with worry.  
  
Harry nodded firmly. "I must." And then, he heard another voice. A cold, unnerving voice, barely audible…  
  
…*kill…rip…tear…eat a sandwich…*…  
  
Harry paused, stood very still, and craned his neck in the direction of the noise.  
  
"Harry, what is it?" Hermione asked with a bit of fright in her voice. "What do you hear?"  
  
"Is it a snake, Harry?" Ron asked.  
  
"SHH!" Harry snapped. "I can't hear it anymore. It went away. Just give me a sec."  
  
Harry shut his eyes and concentrated hard on where he last heard the voice. It wasn't from behind him. It didn't sound like it was to the right or left of him either. And it didn't sound as though it were coming from the walls.  
  
…*need fresh meat…need fresh blood…find me fresh blood…and maybe a glass of milk…*…  
  
"You two don't hear that?!" Harry asked, close to shrieking.  
  
Hermione and Ron shook their heads.  
  
"It's asking me to kill someone…to find it blood…and  
  
I think to make it lunch…"  
  
"Harry, it's been a long week," Hermione reasoned. "I'm sure it was nothing."  
  
…*the girl lies…fear me…kill for me…buy me comic books…*…  
  
"You know what? I am SO sick of hearing strange voices. Let's just forget about it!" Harry stormed off in the direction of Snape's office.  
  
"I already have," Ron confirmed, with a silly grin on his face. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, what just happened?" he asked.  
  
Harry took a deep breath and knocked on the door.  
  
"Enter…" came the stoic reply.  
  
Weary and nervous, the young Gryffindors did.  
  
"Mr. Potter," Snape sneered in his cold voice. "Our new…celebrity."  
  
"Good afternoon, Professor Snape," Harry said, determined to keep his cool.  
  
"Oh, and look…Potter's brought his little…friends…along for the ride. Weasley," Snape shot a murderous glance towards Ron, "And Granger." Snape shot the same look towards Hermione.  
  
"Yes, well, here we are, and we're ready to concoct the potion," Harry said.  
  
"Dandy. Tell me, Mr. Potter…were you careful to shred the wormwood in thin, diagonal slices?"  
  
"Yes sir," Harry said coolly, procuring a jar of several diagonally shredded wormwood slices from his bag.  
  
"And were you cautious enough to boil the shrivelfigs so they browned to a light caramel color?"  
  
"We most certainly did, Professor," said Harry smugly, taking another jar from his bag containing shrivelfig.  
  
"Well…did you…did you mash the acknolle nuts to a fine red powder?"  
  
"Er…what?"  
  
"The acknolle nuts, Potter, the acknolle nuts!"  
  
Harry rummaged through his back and looked to Hermione and Ron for support, who looked at him confused, and shrugged.  
  
"Sir…I…I don't think I have the 'acknolle nuts'…"  
  
"Pity." Snape grinned evilly, and lit a fire under a cauldron resting on the desk in front of him. "Place your ingredients on the table, please."  
  
Harry obliged, and stepped up to the desk, as did Ron and Hermione.  
  
"Oh, and by the way, Potter," Snape said, emptying a pot of water into the cauldron, "There is no such thing as an 'acknolle nut'."  
  
"So you just made it up?" Harry asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes," Snape said, snickering.  
  
"Why?" Harry asked.  
  
"To make you…feel…as thick-witted…as you really are," Snape drawled, stretching awkward pauses in between random words.  
  
"You really showed me there, Professor," Harry muttered.  
  
"What was that?" Snape demanded sharply.  
  
"I said, 'I really like your hair, Professor'." Harry said quickly.  
  
Snape paused for a moment. "Shut up!" he hissed. "I will not take any insolence from you today, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Good," Harry said coolly, "Because I plan on not giving you anything."  
  
"Ooooo," Ron hooted. "Potter: one, Snape: nothing!"  
  
Hermione whapped Ron across the head with a Cornish game hen. "Shhh!" she scolded.  
  
Snape cast a load of murderous glances across the room. "Now," he began, "We shall wait for the water to boil, and then add the shrivelfig."  
  
Harry sat placidly on a stool. Hermione and Ron shifted their weight awkwardly, and finally settled on sitting in chairs around the desk. Snape cast another murderous glance (for good luck) and slid into the chair behind the desk.  
  
No one spoke.  
  
"So…" Ron began. "Don't you hate it when your pet turns out to be an evil wizard?"  
  
Everyone chose to ignore him.  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "Professor, we have the necessary books to aide you with the process. We checked out 'Curses for Dummies' and 'Curses for Dummies: Cliffnotes' out of the library."  
  
Snape sneered. "Mr. Potter…I don't need books. I know exactly what I'm doing…exactly."  
  
"Professor Snape!" Hermione gasped, eyes wide and pointing at something.  
  
"Not now, Granger," Snape hissed, keeping his deep eyes on Harry. "What I know about potions…would make the Dark Lord himself…blush…with the embarrassment of not knowing enough. When it comes to potions…Mr. Potter…I…know…everything."  
  
"Professor!!"  
  
"I can take…the most delicate flower…and turn it into…a fiery flame. I brew liquids…powerful enough to crush a man…after two sips. I can do things you've only…dreamed of…and things that would make you…have…nightmares. I don't need your book…Potter. I know what I'm doing. I know…everything. I have…everything…under control."  
  
"PROFESSOR!"  
  
Snape snapped his gaze on Hermione. "What IS IT, Granger?"  
  
"YOUR ROBE'S ON FIRE!!!"  
  
Snape looked in the direction of Hermione's outstretched finger, which was pointed at the cuff of his sleeve. Sure enough, an orange flame was dancing on his arm. But Snape, cool and collected as ever, simply pointed his wand at the flame and whispered "Aquarius aquannious." A fine jet of water flowed from the tip of his wand and quenched the rising flames.  
  
"Aw Hermione, you should have let him burn," Ron whispered.  
  
"Jell-O confoundus!" Snape chanted.  
  
A mountain of Jell-O fell on Ron.  
  
"Check the cauldron," Snape ordered.  
  
Harry peered into the simmering cauldron, catching a whiff of the odorous fumes. "It smells like Dobby," Ron whispered, wrinkling his nose, and heaving clumps of Jell-O off of him.  
  
"Mr. Potter…if you could please add the shrivelfig…carefully."  
  
"Yes, Professor Snape," Harry said in a false cloying tone. With caution, Harry placed the scoop of delicately sliced shrivelfig into the cauldron.  
  
"Mmm…smells…intoxicating," Snape sighed eerily.  
  
"Yes…it sure does, Professor," Harry lied.  
  
"I just love the scent of freshly boiled shrivelfig. It reminds me of the carefree days of my youth…" Snape's eyes glossed over.  
  
"Professor…are you all right?" Harry asked.  
  
But Snape was long gone. He was staring at the wall in front of him, with a vacant expression, mouth slightly open, eyes moist. "Mommy…" he whispered.  
  
-Cue flashback-  
  
"Severus, dear, don't pat the bunny, you don't know where he's been!" warned a tall pale woman, with dark hair knotted in a greasy bun.  
  
"But mommy dear, I like the fluffy bunny!" said the precocious five year old, with long stringy hair, clutching a shrivelfig sandwich.  
  
The woman laughed. "I know you do, sweetie. But the bunny could be mean."  
  
"Oh mumsy, nothing could be mean in such a beautiful world!" the tot proclaimed, flinging his arms into the bright blue sky.  
  
His exclamation scared the young rabbit. The bunny lifted his white legs in the air, and began charging at the pale woman.  
  
The toddler gasped as he saw the white rabbit dive for his mother. "Mommy, look out!"  
  
The woman screamed as the bunny flew into the air in her direction and wrapped it's thumping legs around her neck. "AAAGGHHHH!"  
  
"MOMMY!" screamed the little boy.  
  
The bunny sank its teeth deep into her neck. She let out a gasp, and collapsed to the earth.  
  
"NOOOOO!!!" the boy screamed. He charged to the bunny, picked him up, and threw him as far as he could. Which was about ten centimeters. Undaunted, the rabbit charged right back at the boy, and pounced on his nose.  
  
"AGGHH!" he screamed, as the fluffy bunny punched his nose.  
  
The little boy fell beside his mom, and the bunny hopped away, chuckling madly.  
  
-End-  
  
"Mommy…come back…" Snape whispered, a tear sliding down his cheek.  
  
"Harry, this is bad!" Hermione decided.  
  
"Really? I thought it was jolly good!" Ron responded sarcastically.  
  
"Was I TALKING to you, Ron?" Hermione snapped. "You better watch yourself, Ron. I've got foods stuffed up my sleeve you've never even heard of. Ever wonder what it's like to be slapped in the face with a honey- glazed pork chop? I can arrange that, you know. Go ahead Ron. Keep making your funny little jokes. I guess it call comes down to this: you feelin' lucky, punk? You feelin' lucky? Because I guarantee you, if you're talkin' to me, you'll wish you would have never been born. Go head, Weasley. Make my day."  
  
Ron, half frightened and half ready to burst out laughing, decided it would be best not to respond to the slightly crazed Hermione.  
  
"Look, if you two want to leave, go ahead," Harry hissed. "But I simply cannot go on like this. I mean, just LOOK at my hair!"  
  
Hermione glanced at Ron, and they nodded. "Harry, we understand," Hermione said. Then she shot a glance at Ron and hissed "NOW!" With that signal, they both ran out of the room, like fluffy bunnies, and slammed the door behind them.  
  
Harry sighed. "Nice bunch of friends you lot are!" He yelled to them. Snape was still in his trance.  
  
"Professor?" Harry tried, but no such luck. He shrugged and began to tap dance. Immediately, Snape snapped out of his trance.  
  
"Potter, what are you doing?" he snarled.  
  
"Just a little spontaneous dancing, sir."  
  
Snape gave Harry a cold, hard stare. "Add the wormwood," he ordered. Harry did so.  
  
"Professor, are you all right?" Harry asked, curiosity getting the best of him.  
  
"I'm fine, Potter, but I appreciate you…looking out…for my health." The smell of simmering wormwood procured another memory from Snape's mind, and he once again succumbed to what he tried so hard to forget…  
  
-Cut to Flashback- ("Not again", Harry muttered.)  
  
"Daddy, is mumsy going to die?"  
  
"Shut up…and eat your…shrivelfig stew," ordered a tall brooding man with sallow skin.  
  
"Daddy, I don't like shrivelfig anymore. May I have some of your tossed wormwood salad?"  
  
"No."  
  
The toddler pouted. "You're mean."  
  
An elderly doctor entered the small dining room, a frown pasted on his weary face.  
  
"I'm afraid your wife's health is in critical condition."  
  
"Severus, go to your room," the tall man ordered.  
  
"No!"  
  
"Severus…" the man warned, giving his son a cold, hard stare.  
  
The little boy pushed his food away and ran upstairs. He paused, and slowly crept back down, stopping near the foot of the staircase to listen.  
  
"So does she have a chance?" the tall man asked.  
  
The doctor sighed. "It's looking grim. The infection has spread to nearly every aspect of her body."  
  
The tall man held his head in his hands. "I just don't understand how anyone could die from a rabbit mauling. It doesn't make sense."  
  
"You are indeed correct. This is an extremely rare case of animal insanity. Apparently, the rabbit was startled and went 'crazy'. However, usually the rabbits overcome these sort of things and proceed merrily on their way."  
  
"But it attacked my wife and son brutally, gnawing on their necks and noses."  
  
"Yes…well…err…" the doctor ruffled through the stack of worn papers attached to his wooden clipboard. "Ah, yes, this rabbit had a case of… 'bunny fever'."  
  
"You just made that up."  
  
"No I didn't."  
  
"Then may I see your clipboard?"  
  
"Ah, no."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it's mine."  
  
"Give me that blasted clipboard!"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Wingardium leviosa!"  
  
"Hey! Give that back!"  
  
The toddler watched in silence as his father wrestled with the doctor over the clipboard. He then crept up to bed.  
  
The young greasy youth lay quietly in bed, staring at the ceiling. "Why did this happen?" he whispered.  
  
"I dunno," said the mirror above his dresser.  
  
"I was such a good little boy, and mommy was such a good woman. Why do bad things happen to good people?"  
  
"Search me."  
  
The little boy sat up in bed, arms folded. "Well, if bad things happen to good people, then do good things happen to bad people?"  
  
"Sure, whatever."  
  
"They must!" The little boy got out of bed and walked to the mirror. He paused in front of it, studying the wound on his now crooked nose. "From now on, I will be bad," he declared.  
  
"You got it, bro," the mirror cheered.  
  
"Shut up!" the little boy cursed. He grabbed a boot near his bed and flung it at the mirror.  
  
"Dude, not cool!" the mirror yelled, but to no avail. The boot hit the mirror and broke it into hundreds of shimmering shards.  
  
"No more mister nice boy!"  
  
-End-  
  
"Professor?" Harry asked. Snape grumbled, but did not lift his head from his hands.  
  
"Professor, perhaps I should go…" Harry suggested.  
  
"Mr. Potter, get back here," Snape said hoarsely. "We're almost done." With extreme unusual haste and carelessness, Snape flung the remaining potions into the boiling pot. He stirred vigorously, the poured it all into a large bottle. He swished the liquid around (which looked just absolutely disgusting, like troll bogeys) and poured some into a small vial, which he tossed to Harry. "Drink," he commanded.  
  
"But it's boiling hot!" Harry protested, looking at the potion and feeling sick.  
  
"It will taste ice cold."  
  
"But-  
  
"I said drink it!"  
  
Harry closed his eyes and drank the contents of the vial. He shivered as the chopped iciness forced its way down his throat, leaving an aftertaste of hairspray.  
  
"Now get out," Snape snapped, as he pushed Harry out then slammed the door in his face.  
  
Harry stormed over to Hermione and Ron, who were clustered in a corner quivering with laughter and fear of Harry's lashing.  
  
"So…did Snape help ya some?" Ron asked, giggling.  
  
"Real funny Ron," Harry snapped.  
  
"Oh Harry, we're sorry for abandoning you, but we just couldn't take the awkwardness any longer," Hermione apologized.  
  
"I honestly don't understand why I'm still chums with you two."  
  
"Oh you know why, Harry. You need two completely opposite sidekicks to assist you on your journeys."  
  
"You want some Jell-O?" Ron asked, grabbing a handful from his pocket.  
  
"No Ron, I honestly don't." Harry sighed, and ran his hand over his hair, which promptly got stuck within the mass of tangles.  
  
"Great. Perfect," he muttered. "If you two don't mind I think I need to be alone for a while." Harry, in a rather depressed state, sulked away from his two best friends, right hand stuck in his hair. He shuffled up the dungeon stairs, down the hall, and outside into the courtyard.  
  
"Why does this happen to me??" He asked, pleading with the world to provide an answer.  
  
POW!  
  
Harry fell to the floor hard. "HEDWIG! You prat! Watch where you're flying!"  
  
Hedwig rolled her eyes and resumed flight. Harry picked himself off the floor, delivery in hand. It was a letter.  
  
Using his teeth and left hand, Harry managed to tear it open. It said this:  
  
"Dear Harry,  
  
It's me again! How are you doing? Is your hair getting any better? I know you probably think it looks horrid and shameful, but it reminds me of spring! I just love what you've done with it! If I had a hamster, I would name him Harry Pootsie! You're such a pootsie wootsie, Potter Wotter! If only we could be together, away from prying eyes, I would show you how much you mean to me, by doing a little dance I invented myself! It's called the Potter Shuffle of Happiness! Let us meet on Friday, after the Quidditch game! I'll be in the Quidditch shed, wearing a great big heart made of butter!  
  
Until then, my sweet apple blossom!  
  
Love,  
  
Your Secret Love Bunny"  
  
"Perfect," Harry sighed. "It doesn't get much better than this."  
  
"WRONG!!!" chorused a pair of voices from behind. "IT'S GRED AND FEORGE TIME!!!!!"  
  
Harry turned around. "Hullo Fred. Hullo George."  
  
"WHY IS YOUR HAND IN YOUR HAIR??" the duo asked.  
  
"Why are you two yelling?"  
  
"WHY AREN'T YOU YELLING?"  
  
"Can you two help me?"  
  
"WHAT DO YOU WANT US TO DO?" hollered Fred.  
  
"Maybe you could pull my hand out of my hair?" Harry asked.  
  
"WHAT IF WE CAN'T DO IT?" George screamed.  
  
"Why don't you just try?"  
  
Fred and George shrugged. They skipped over to Harry, and gave a great tug on his arm. After much grunting, they pulled his hand out of his hair, with a loud pop, and Harry yanking several strands out of his head.  
  
"DID THAT HURT?" Fred bellowed.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"HARRY, DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THE QUIDDITCH GAME ON FRIDAY?" George whooped.  
  
"I did, but is it true that we have to play on each other's shoulders?"  
  
"DOESN'T THAT BLOODY SUCK?" Fred roared.  
  
"School funding was so bad that they had to take away our brooms?"  
  
"DO YOU THINK MAYBE WE'LL GET THEM BACK ONE DAY?" George shouted.  
  
"Why are you asking me?"  
  
"WHY ARE YOU ASKING HIM, GEORGE?" Fred brawled.  
  
"WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME WHY I ASKED HIM?" George hooted.  
  
"Why is it that we're only speaking in questions?" Harry questioned.  
  
"WHY DO YOU CARE?" Fred hallooed.  
  
"What is WRONG with you two?" Harry cried helplessly.  
  
"HOW DO YOU FIGURE?" they screeched.  
  
"CAN EVERYBODY JUST SHUT UP???" shrieked Madam Hooch.  
  
Harry ran away.  
  
"WHY IS IT THAT EVERYBODY CAN ONLY SPEAK IN QUESTIONS WHEN TALKING TO YOU TWO?" whined Madam Hooch.  
  
"DO YOU THINK IT'S SOME DARK FORCE?" George squealed.  
  
"CAN YOU PASS THE SALTY FIGS?" Dumbledore called from his tower.  
  
Breathing heavily, Harry ran all the way up to his dormitory and collapsed on his bed. "Why am I always running?" he asked.  
  
...*…kill…feed me…put a record on, I wanna dance with my baby…*…  
  
"Who are you?? Where are you??" Harry demanded.  
  
…*…do not ask questions…we're done with the question thing, get out of that mode, it's really starting to annoy people…*…  
  
"Sorry. But please, tell me, who are you?"  
  
"Harry, it's me, Neville Longbottom!" said Neville, from his bed.  
  
"Neville, I wasn't talking to you!" Harry paused to listen. "Now it's gone."  
  
"What's gone, Harry?"  
  
"My sanity. AND WHEN IS THIS BLOODY CHAPTER GOING TO END?? IT'S BEEN GOING ON FOR PAGES AND PAGES AND-  
  
EnD.  
  
DISCLAIMERS: I do not own the Harry Potter characters. They're J.K. Rowling's folk. I also don't own rights to Cliffnotes, or the "For Dummies" book series, Pepsi One, or Madonna's lyrics, or anything I mentioned. The only thing I do own is the phrase "Secret Love Bunny".  
  
NUMBER OF TIMES RON WAS HIT WITH FOOD: 2  
  
IS THE JOKE GETTING OLD?: Yes  
  
WILL I GET RID OF IT?: No way, I find it far too amusing.  
  
WHAT DO YOU THINK RON SHOULD BE HIT WITH?  
  
I got a request for spaghetti. I'll try to work that in next time. If anyone has an idea, post it! 


	10. The Excuse

"Harry, look out for that axe."

"What?"

But it was too late. The giant axe came crashing down on Harry's head, killing him instantly.

"There goes the bravest Gryffindor that ever lived," Hagrid sobbed.

"Hagrid what the bloody hell are you doing here?" Ron asked.

"Don't curse!" Hagrid scolded, and chopped Ron's head off.

"WHAT is going on in here?" Hermione asked.

"Erm, nothing…"

"Hagrid," Hermione said sternly, "Did you kill Harry and Ron?"

"Aye," Hagrid said, staring at his shoes.

"Oh well, no great loss there," Hermione bemused, and fell down an elevator shaft.

"Bet ya didn't see _that_ comin'!" Hagrid said gleefully, and he floated away into the starry night.

….

………

…………

…………….

………………..

……………………

…………………………

…._GOTCHA_.

Okay, here's the real deal. I haven't written in a long while. I have totally lost the flow. I plan to continue this, I just don't know when. I need Potter inspiration. Maybe this means I won't update until the next movie or book. Or maybe I'll be hit by a tidal wave of possibility and update tomorrow. I just don't know. I wish I could give y'all an idea. I'm sorry for being such a bloomin' prat. Thanks for sticking with me thus far. I really appreciate the positive feedback.

TTFN,

Me (The author, silly)


	11. You Can't Spell Nonsense Without Sense U...

Okay, you all asked for it. Which is very flattering and kind of you, but I warn you…I hope you enjoy it.

Harry woke up that morning with a terrible pain in his scar. He soon realized the pain was due to Hedwig, who was sitting on his face pecking at his forehead. Apparently, she had a letter to deliver to Harry, which she dropped on his chest, for young Potter would not wake up. After wrenching her away, he sat up in bed, saw the letter on his chest, and opened it. It said:

            "_Dearest Harry Pootsie,_

_            Yesterday, I was washing my foot, and I realized that it hurt. It ached. It ached with love, my fuzzy pickle. It ached with love for _you_. I fear that if I don't see you soon, it will fall off! Tee hee! _

_I like guacamole! _

_I must see you, my little Boris Yeltsin. Meet me in the Quidditch shed on Friday, after practice. You'll know it's me because I'll be wearing a hat made of butter. And also, because I'll be the only one in the shed. And I'm not a broom, silly!_

_Love,_

_            Your Most Secret Most Special Love Bunny"_

Harry crumpled the note in his hand, sighed, and set it on fire with his wand. Then he got dressed, careful not to upset his hair. He rubbed his sore head, deep in thought.

            "Morning, Harry," Ron greeted. "Any letters from your Secret Love Bunny?"

            "Ron!" Harry hissed. "Keep your voice down! And yes. I'm to meet her on Friday, in the Quidditch shed."

            "Sounds magical," Ron teased. 

            Harry shoved Ron out the window.

            "Oh you really have NO sense of humour, Harry!" Ron yelled, from the rosebush bellow the window in which he fell in. 

            Harry headed down to breakfast. After loading his plate with food, he sat down to eat beside Hermione.

            "Morning, Harry," she greeted, her face buried in a thick leathery book.

            "Reading already?"

            "Yes. Has Snape's potion taken any effect yet?"

            "No."

            "It will. Harry, I had an idea. Today is our day to go to Hogsmeade. I think a butterbeer will raise your spirits, and perhaps I can speak with some residents of the town who might know a little bit about your curse."

            "Sounds good."

            All of a sudden, a brilliant flash blinded Harry.

            "What the??"

            "Hullo, Harry! It's me, Colin!"

            "Oh…Colin why are you taking a picture of me?"

            "Well, I haven't been mentioned in the story yet…that and *Vanity Friar will give me twenty sickles for this picture!"

*note: I want you all to appreciate that it says "Vanity FRIAR" not "Vanity Fair". You get it??

            "Great," Harry deadpanned. 

            "Hullo," Oliver greeted, sauntering over to Harry.

            "Oliver, I swear, if you step any closer…"

            "Easy there lad, I just wanted to inform you that we've got Quidditch practice today 'round four. There's a game Satruday. I'll be on my way now!"

            Oliver skipped back to his lone table.

            "Not even Quidditch can cheer me up now," Harry sighed.

            Hermione looked pensive. "Harry…erm…where's Ron?"

            "I shoved him out the window."

            "Harry!"

            "Relax, he's fine. I think he landed safely."

            Hermione slammed her book shut. "I'm going to check on him. How dare you treat your friend that way!"

            "How dare you leave me alone with Snape!"

            Miffed, Hermione gathered her book, rose out of her chair, huffed away.

            Harry rolled his eyes. 

            "Well, look who's seated all by himself," came a snide little remark headed Harry's way.

            "I know. I'm always by me wee self," Oliver bemoaned.

            Draco rolled his eyes. "I wasn't TALKING to you." Crabbe and Goyle grunted appreciatively at Draco's cruel retort.

            Oliver burst into tears and ran away.

            "Malfoy, why did you have to do that?" Harry asked, rolling his eyes. "There really is no need to cause trouble. Why don't you just head back to your little Slytherin table and braid Professor Snape's hair…"

            Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're not so great, you know. Everyone thinks Harry James Potter is the cat's pajamas" Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other with their usual look of puzzlement and shrugged "but how would they feel about the great Potter if he were covered in clam juice? Now!"

            At his command, Crabbe and Goyle procured open cans of clam juice from behind their back and heaved the contents at Harry, soaking him from head to toe in clammy goodness.

            "AHAHAHAHAHA," Draco laughed evilly.

            The Hall grew quieter, as everyone watched the Draco/Harry spectacle.

            "What in the blazes did you do that for?" Harry asked, royally pissed off. "You idiot! Really, what in the bloody hell did you do that for? Now I'm going to smell like clam juice for the rest of the day because there's no time to take a shower! You git!"

            "That was the point," Draco said proudly.

            "But how stupid! Anyone can chuck clam juice at someone! What cunning does that take?"

            Draco glanced down at the floor. "I dunno."

            "You naff! You're really thick, you know that?"

            Draco shuffled his feet uneasily as thousands of eyes stared at him, waiting for his clever retort. 

"Draco away!" he finally commanded, and so Crabbe and Goyle hoisted him up carried him away. The spectators chuckled, shrugged, and went back to eating. 

The doors of the Great Hall burst open, and in shuffled Ron, covered in thorns, held up by Hermione. They hobbled over to Harry, and sat down. "So what did I miss?" Ron asked.

"Draco had Crabbe and Goyle pourclam juice all over me," Harry replied sullenly.

Hermione and Ron burst into laughter and high fived each other. "You deserved it, you git," Ron laughed.

Harry darted up from his seat and strode away from his chuckling chums. He decided to head to Hagrid's class early. It was a rather pretty day. The sun was shining, but it wasn't hot. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the cloud were white, the lake was greenish-blue, the birds were brown, the roses were red, the castle was gray, the – well, you get the idea. Hagrid noticed Harry approaching, and waved him a hearty hello.

"Mornin' Harry!" Hagrid greeting cheerily. "Got some real interesting creatures to show yeh today that-FROSTY'S SNOW! HARRY, YOU SMELL BLOODY AWFUL!"

"Thanks Hagrid, morning," Harry mumbled.

"What happened to yeh?!"

"Crabbe and Goyle poured clam juice on me."

"Ach, I hate it when that happens! Tom Riddle did that ta me forty yars ago, he did! Only he poured cabbage water all over me head! Smelled for weeks!"

Harry stared at Hagrid, then walked over to a rock and sat on it. He decided to wait for class to start.

Finally, everyone was gathered on the grassy knoll for Hagrid's class. Hermione and Ron were staring smugly at Harry, who was staring beadily back. Neville was standing next to Hermione, discreetly sniffing her hair and sighing with happiness. Hermione looked over, noticed what he was doing, screamed, and hit him with eggplant parmesan. Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and nearly the rest of the class were in muffled hysterics over Draco's prank.

            "All right class!" Hagrid shouted, rounding the class up, "today we're going to observe some very special, dangerous creatures."

            "Oooo," the class echoed in awe.

"Yes. 'Oooo' is right. Now I want yeh all to stand back. Yeh never know what kinda mood these things are in."

            The class took several nervous steps back from the crate. Hagrid cautiously approached it, and with a crow bar, he pried it open. The first creature stepped out, blinking into the sunlight, and with its mighty voice said,

            "Meow."

            The class stood dumbfounded, staring at the small fluffy kitten in front of them. Several more followed, all meowing sweetly.

            "Er, Hagrid? These are kittens," Ron explained.

            "Yes! Stay back!" Hagrid warned, and just to be safe, picked Ron up, walked back a few feet, and placed him down. "Whew! That was a close one!"

            "Hagrid's finally gone mad," Lavender audibly whispered to Parvati, who nodded in agreement.

            Justin Finch-Fletcherly, a Hufflepuff student, approached an orange striped tabby. He kneeled down. "Hello, kitty," he cooed.

            "NOOOO!!" yelled Hagrid. He thundered over to Justin, grabbed him, and jumped back to the rest of the class at the "safe distance". "GET DOWN! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!" Hagrid commanded, and everyone was so frightened or puzzled that they did. Hagrid flung himself into the earth, and plugged is fingers in his ears. He acted as though a bomb was about to explode at any moment.

            "Hagrid! Get a grip!" Hermione commanded, standing up.

            "No, Hermione, it's too dangerous!"

            "Hagrid, they won't hurt you!" She insisted.

            Hagrid, breathing heavily, stood up, dusted off his clothes, and grinned proudly at Hermione. "Good job, Hermione. Twenty points to Gryffindor. Class, yeh can all get up now."

            The students pulled themselves up, muttering, wondering what was going on.

            "Yeh see, Hermione followed my directions. That's one of the most important rules in this class. We might be dealing with some very dangerous creatures, and if yeh can't follow the rules, you're toast. Then, Hermione acted calm in a wild situation. Yeh should be very proud, Hermione."

            Hermione beamed.

            "Oh, no way," Ron protested. "This is beetle dung. Hagrid, you must have slipped something into your treacle fudge, because what just happened was utterly mad. And Hermione really didn't do anything! She just acted sane in an insane situation!"

            "Exactly," Hagrid replied.

            "But…but," sputtered Ron.

            "Hey, has anyone seen Neville?" asked Harry, noticing that he had left Hermione's side.

            The class looked around and realized that Neville wasn't there. They called for him.

            "Up here," he said weakly.

            Everyone looked up. Neville was in a tree.

            "I wanted to keep a safe distance from the dangerous creatures," was his embarrassed reply. "Now I can't get down."

            "Oh brother, this is ridiculous," said Ron. And then a leprechaun fell on his head.


	12. Even Potters Get the Blues

Nothing happens in this chapter. Nothing that really moves the story forward. Or.does it? No, it doesn't. By the way, it's really short.  
  
Sorry for the long delay! You asked for it. Bet you wish you hadn't!

  
  
By the way, I would like to apologize for earlier comments about Richard Harris' performance in the film, saying he "sounded like he was about to die at any minute". Well, imagine my horror when Harris actually did die not long after the second film was made. He sure got me there! That's taking acting to a whole new level, no? I guess since I thought Rickman said his lines like a drug addled freak that after the filming of this movie he'll actually become a drug addled freak. And by the way, didn't the second movie suck? Memo to Chris Columbus: lay of the action sequences, buddy. And the giant spiders. For the love of God, lay of the giant spider brigade, okay? You had waaay too much spider action in that film.

Also, when I uploaded this chapter onto the site, the spacing got all screwed up.  I have no idea why that happened.  Hopefully, this is a fixed version of that chapter.

"Ach, this is it, Harry. No turning back, my wee apple blossom. This is it. There are only two ways to go about this Harry: win or lose. I'm talking to ALL of you wee ones. But mostlay Harry. Because he always manages to win it for us. Always. Actually, there is NO POINT in us being on this team. We could just send wee Harry out there, watch him catch the snitch, and have a partay. Get some corned loaf, a bucket of butterbeer, and get all down 'n funky. But instead, we're going to go out there. All of us. Because there is no "I" in team. And by the way, "team" is "meat" backwards. Coinsidence? I think not. So let's go out there, and HAM IT UP. It's go time, meh wee lads." 

"Oliver, the game isn't for another six hours," Percy Weasly groaned. "And I find it increasingly difficult to study with your constant prattle." 

Oliver punched Percy in the stomach. 

"I'm TRYING to rehearse my speech for my team! 'Da want us to win, Percy, do yah??" 

".I can't breathe." 

"I'll take that as a yes, young lad. Yah got to understand that my pep talks pep the team up. They inspire them, dig?" 

And quite suddenly, Oliver Wood stopped talking in a thickly stereotyped Scottish accent and began talking like Frank Sinatra circa 1960. Why? It's exceedingly difficult to keep the stupid accent thing up. So let's just pretend that he accidently drank some potion that.um.I don't know, makes him talk.differently. 

"So listen up, space dog, my goons are gonna go out there and play the field like Ava Gardner." 

"Oh Snap! You snapped a rather good one there, old chum! I salute you!" Hooted Dumbledore from behind a bush. He emerged, dusting his clothes and pulling leaves out of his long beard. He paused. "Has anyone seen my pants?" 

Oliver stopped beating Percy into a bloody pulp. They both stared at Dumbledore. "I believe they've disappeared into the land of the missing," Dumbledore cheerily explained. 

".Chum, let's go to a more private area where I can beat the schnauzer outta you," Oliver decided. "Indeed," Percy agreed. He turned his attention to Dumbledore. "Really sir, what is wrong with you? You've lost all venerability." 

"I like sponges!" Dumbledore giggled.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
A few feet away, Harry was having trouble focusing. He was excited and anxious about the great quidditch game to be held later that day, sans brooms. He was also somewhat nervous about meeting his "secret love bunny" after the game. Harry decided to take a walk to ease his nerves. He asked Hermione ("sure! Perhaps we can collect more clues on that strange voice you've been hearing!") and Ron ("durrr.okay, it'll give me a chance to ogle Herm-I mean.d'oh.") to come. 

They made their way slowly around the halls of the great castle. Ron and Hermione knew Harry was upset about something. 

"Hey Harry, d'ya want to talk about what's troubling you, then?" Ron asked. 

Harry sighed. "No thanks, Ron." 

Hermione tried to say something but she was muffled under Harry's hair, which began to beat her into a bloody pulp. Whatever she said sounded like "mmrophmae!" 

Harry sighed. "Yeah, thanks Hermione." 

"WE ARE PUFFY HUFFLY TOO - YOU SAY WE SUCK BUT SAME TO YOU!" 

"What on Hogwart's green quidditch field is that?" asked Ron. 

"It sounds like some sort of cheer!" Hermione observed, breaking free from Harry's hair. 

"It does," Harry agreed. He squinted down the hall. "And it looks like a parade is coming this way cheering it." 

Sure enough, a parade of Hufflepuffs were marching down the hall, chanting their proud motto. They were decked out in yellow, head to toe, from the yellow badger hats on their head, to the yellow badgers slippers on their feet. Ernie MacMillan was leading the parade, holding up a large banner that said "HUFFLEPUFFS ARE PUFFTASTIC!" 

"Hullo Ernie. What's going on?" 

"We're having a Hufflepuff Pride Parade!" he boasted cheerfully. "We're sick of people putting us down, and we're going to take a stand!" 

He slapped canary yellow Hufflepuff Badges on Harry. 

"Everyone's here is support," he said breathlessly. "Susannah Bones, Justin Finch-Fletcherly, Hannah Abbot - and we're even toting a small shrine dedicated to Cedric." At the same of the deceased quidditch player, the Hufflepuffs bowed their heads. 

"But.why?" asked Ron. 

"To raise Hufflepuff awareness! To say we won't take the jeers anymore! Come on everyone, let's do the Hufflepuff Pride Dance!" The Hufflepuffs cheered and chattered excitedly, then dropped their banners and began kicking their legs and clapping their hands, as the Potter 3 watched in utter confusion. 

"By the way Harry," Justin Finch-Fletcherly called, patting him on the back, "Good luck with the game today! Show those Slytherins!" he then disappeared into J. K. Rowling's portal of two-dimensional useless characters. 

Harry turned to his bosom buddies who were still staring dumbly at the Hufflepuff spectacle in front of them. "I should go change for the game," he said. "See ya later." He then turned to Neville who was breathing down his neck, eyes glassy. "And no Neville, you cannot come. You cannot watch. You cannot sell tickets." 

"I only did that once," Neville pouted. Hermione poured a vat of acid on him. 

"Hey, that's not a food!" Ron cried. Hermione snickered. "Jealous, Ron?" 

Ron's lower lip quavered. "Shut up, you cruel witch! WE BELONG TOGETHER!" He ran away bawling. Then he stopped, turned around, walked calmly back to Harry and said "good luck! I know you'll do swimmingly!" Then resumed bawling and ran away waving his arms violently, knocking down several Hufflepuffs like bowling pins. 

Hermione blushed. "Yes, good luck Harry!" and strode away. 

Harry pushed through the Hufflepuff parade and made his way back to his room in deep thought. "Come on then," he said to himself. "It's just another quidditch game. Sure, you don't have a broom and have to play on a Slytherin's back, but that doesn't change anything." 

"Speaking of change," came a coy voice from behind, "you better hurry!" Neville giggled and then snapped Harry with a towel. Harry's hair growled, picked Neville up, and chucked him fifty yards away, where he landed in a bush and was greeted by a befuddled Dumbledore who inquired about his missing pants.


End file.
